


Reality Unraveling

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [23]
Category: Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dinner, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Flirting, Friendship, Gen, Lost Love, M/M, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 08:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint can't shake the feeling that there was more to his hallucinated conversation than anyone is willing to admit.  When he lays this theory out for Quinn, his lover begins to look at recent events in a new light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reality Unraveling

His ear piece had been reprogrammed…to a channel he’d only ever used in the field when communicating privately with Coulson.

Natasha was the only one brave enough to say it, but Clint knew she was just voicing the opinion shared by most of the team. _”You did it yourself. The explosion knocked you silly, and your brain defaulted to what you might have done in that situation had Coulson been alive.”_ It dovetailed nicely with what he’d originally assumed was his addled brain hallucinating a forty-five minute conversation with his dead handler.

The problem was that Clint had never done anything like that before – injured or not. And this was hardly the first time he’d experienced something blowing up literally in his face either. So his choices were that Natasha and the others were right and he’d performed a maneuver requiring a considerable amount of fine motor control and concentration while nearly unconscious, or somehow Phil had reached out from beyond the grave to help him hold himself together until the team arrived.

(Okay, Clint knew which scenario _he_ wanted to be true.)

“It’s not going to tell you anything you don’t already know.”

Clint looked up in the mirror he’d been facing and saw Nat standing in the doorway over his shoulder, arms folded across her chest. “It’s just bugging me that I don’t even have a ghost of a memory of reprogramming the stupid thing,” he admitted, picking it up before turning to face her. “It’s not like flipping a switch.”

Nat shrugged – her way of confirming that she didn’t have a workable theory either. “Have you been checked out?”

“Physically,” he sighed. “Haven’t been able to bring myself to call Marissa yet.” Marissa Margolis was his therapist – exactly the kind of no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners kind of doctor Clint was sure he’d been looking for his entire life.

His partner and best friend leaned against the door frame, her expression growing shrewd as she studied him. “How come you haven’t called him yet?”

Clint smiled ruefully, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. “That obvious, huh?” He wanted to talk to Quinn – the man whose arms he slept in most nights, the person whose presence steadied him these days like nothing else could. _”You wouldn’t ask that question if you could see us together, Phil. You’d just know.”_ “Time difference mostly,” he went on. “He tends to work late on these trips.”

“And you don’t want to be the needy boyfriend,” she finished for him, rolling her eyes. “News flash for you, genius – he _likes_ the fact that you rely on him when stuff like this happens.”

“Tell the truth,” Clint snarked, as she finally entered the room and took a seat on the bed. “You guys sneak out at night while I’m sleeping so you can gossip about me behind my back.”

He was actually startled to see Natasha’s grin grow positively mischievous. “Ask me no questions…” She gestured at him. “Call him. You look like a lost puppy.”

Sighing dramatically, Clint leaned against the edge of the dresser and pulled out his phone.  
*********************  
Quinn liked London well enough, but this trip had taken most of his endurance and all of his patience. It had started out as routine oversight of the latest upgrade to the office’s cyber security system. He’d even been prepared for a few glitches – no computer related upgrade in the history of ever had gone off without any problems in his experience.

He hadn’t planned for a break-in by people he’d _thought_ were his friends. He’d managed to convince the members of the newly formed “Leverage International” to leave Stark Industries in peace, but in the process he’d overplayed his hand with his boss and currently had no idea what sort of payback Tony might be plotting that he would have no defense against whatsoever.

So when the unexpected dinner invitation had been left on his voicemail…

“You’re thinking again.”

Caught off guard, he chuckled ruefully. “Sorry,” he apologized, spearing a small piece of his fish and putting it in his mouth. “Occupational hazard these days I’m afraid,” he continued, once the meat had been properly chewed and swallowed.

His companion – a good looking older man who he’d run into on a couple of occasions now – settled back in his chair with a smile. “So long as it’s not me.”

“Oh it’s _definitely_ not you,” Quinn admitted. “Although, you do have me wondering…” He sighed. “I’ve told you I’m in a relationship. You’ve also dropped some hints that tell me you’ve been with SHIELD long enough to know that if you’re looking for inside information on the Avengers, I don’t have it, and if you’re looking for something on Clint Barton, I’m not going to give it to you.”

“So you accepted my invitation because you’re curious about my motives in wanting to get to know you better?”

“Something like that,” Quinn said, getting the words out before he also confessed that he was flattered by the attention. He would never in a million years have considered cheating on his relationship with Clint, but ego had always been a weakness of his – and as long as he was absolutely upfront about where he stood so what if he enjoyed the charming SHIELD agent’s attempts to play him like the proverbial Stradivarius?

His dinner companion sobered slightly, obviously trying to work out how best to phrase his response. Before he could say anything though, Quinn’s phone vibrated for his attention.

_Clint._

“Uh, do you mind?” he asked, already getting up from his seat. “I won’t be long, but I should take this.”

His companion nodded affably, waving him on. “I’ll order some coffee.”  
**********************  
Coming to London had been a gamble so soon after his conversation with Clint, but Coulson could feel the pressure rising as the last of the time he’d bought himself continued to slip through his fingers. It all would have been so much easier if he could have hated Quinn. Clint’s defense of the man and their relationship had been heartfelt and passionate…and surprisingly more mature than Coulson would have expected. _It’s the same way he argued for Natasha,_ Coulson realized, idly tracing a pattern in the tablecloth with a fingertip.

And the worst part about it from Coulson’s perspective was that Quinn apparently deserved every bit of Clint’s praise and support. After all this time he had no evidence, empirical or otherwise, to even hint that Quinn might be using the archer for some nefarious purpose. He’d tempted Quinn with everything he had in his – admittedly limited – arsenal, and while the man had made no secret of his interest, he’d also been firm in his refusal to pursue things beyond where they were.

He was behaving like an honorable man – exactly the kind of man, truth be told, Coulson would have wanted for his asset had his own feelings not been hopelessly clouding the issue.

_”What would you have done if we’d had the chance to follow up on New Mexico like we’d planned?”_

_”I love you, Phil Coulson. Always have, always will.”_

_”Clint, I’m sorry.”_

“Dammit,” Coulson breathed, forcing himself to signal their waiter. He needed to stop this before things really spiraled out of control. _Just come clean, apologize for hiding from him, and wish the two of them well._ He could do that, couldn’t he? He could be the bigger man in his mess.

He saw Quinn returning to their table a moment before the other man resumed his seat. “Everything okay?” Coulson asked, noting immediately the change in his companion’s expression.

Quinn paused long enough to give their waiter a coffee and dessert order. Coulson followed suit, upgrading his espresso with a slice of the house cheesecake.

“I’m going to be a bit of a dick here,” Quinn said, once they were alone again, “so feel free to tell me to shove my questions someplace painful. What can you tell me about Phil Coulson?”  
***********************  
They ended up talking through extra cups of coffee and an additional dessert each. Quinn honestly hadn’t expected his companion to give up as much information as he did in the end. “I appreciate you being honest with me,” he said as they walked out to the street together. “I’m trying to be as supportive as I can, but it’s the one area of his life where nobody’s been able to give me enough information to help him.”

The SHIELD agent looked troubled. “It’s a tragic situation all the way around. Try and help him understand that it wasn’t his fault.” A cab pulled to the curb in response to his hail; he opened the door then paused, turning back towards Quinn. “My turn to be something of a dick – if Phil Coulson somehow hadn’t died, who do you think Barton would choose…you or him?”

Quinn started to say, “Coulson.” It was the right answer, after all – the only answer given their history – but something had changed in the SHIELD agent’s expression; something that raised gooseflesh on his skin and chilled his soul. “I, um, don’t know,” he managed finally. “I don’t really deal in ‘what ifs’.”

He knew dangerous men – like recognized like after all – and as his companion seemed to be considering his answer Quinn finally understood that this, facing him right now, was a very dangerous man. “You know, I’ve read what you did to Barton and his squad in the Sudan,” the agent said, “and I suspect that if Coulson had been alive at the time you would have been taken out of play long before you ever had a chance to worm your way into his heart.” He paused, letting his words sink in, then added, “It’s what I would have done.”

Before Quinn could even begin to consider how to respond to that, the older man slid into the cab, shut the door, and a moment later was gone. Quinn remained in place on the sidewalk for several more minutes, trying to haul his suddenly spinning thoughts into some sort of order.

His brief conversation with Clint, coupled with his own deep-seated mistrust of SHIELD and Director Fury, had started him looking at recent events in a far more sinister light. Quinn couldn’t have explained to anyone’s satisfaction why, but hearing the events of Clint’s recent mission he didn’t believe for a second that his lover had hallucinated a conversation with his dead handler. He did believe that SHIELD was more than capable of making Clint believe he had, and he also believed Nick Fury wouldn’t think twice about setting something like that in motion.

 _“I’ll be on the first flight out of here in the morning.”_ Clint had been angling to come to London, but Quinn was even more certain now than when they’d talked just a few hours ago. Somebody had their hands deep into the seemingly unrelated coincidences that had been plaguing their lives lately – and the best place for them to compare notes and figure out who and why wasn’t London, it was Avengers Tower.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, wrapping his fingers around his smart phone and thinking of the picture he’d managed to snap of his mysterious stalker/secret admirer. _And while we’re at it, I want to know what your game is,_ he thought, turning and starting the three block walk to his hotel. It would have been nice to go on thinking that the older agent’s interest in him was simply a case of unresolved sexual tension. Under the circumstances, however, the timing was much too suspicious.

 _We’re being played._ He believed it more and more with each passing moment, and for Clint’s sake as well as his own he was going to figure out who and why and make them pay.


End file.
